


poetry in my soul

by aarobron



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Depression, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9187391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/aarobron
Summary: an insight into how aaron's loved ones deal with his mental health***there are warnings***+++The one thing Robert’s learnt throughout his (lifetime) two and a bit years with Aaron is that mental health is fluid. It sounds like bad advice from a bad leaflet, really, but he doesn’t care because it’s true. He knows now, finally, that Aaron can go from pleasantly happy and carefree to heartbreakingly tearful and weak in one broken night’s sleep. He knows that Aaron can go from whispering poetic, loving phrases to firing deep, cutting insults with a single word.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from stitches by young guns  
> x

The one thing Robert's learnt throughout his (lifetime) two and a bit years with Aaron is that mental health is fluid. It sounds like bad advice from a bad leaflet, really, but he doesn't care because it's _true_. He knows now, finally, that Aaron can go from pleasantly happy and carefree to heartbreakingly tearful and weak in one broken night's sleep. He knows that Aaron can go from whispering poetic, loving phrases to firing deep, cutting insults with a single word. 

But it doesn't bother him. He refuses to let it hit him, to bring him down and break him and grind on him, so he just tilts his chin defiantly, a challenge, and tells Aaron that _it's okay_ and _I love you_ and _we'll make this better_.

The first few times, Aaron had spat that he would never be better. Robert just nodded - he knows this, that there isn't exactly a cure for mind-numbing depression. He knows that it won't disappear but he knows that it can fade at the very least, with some help and support. Seeing as he isn't exactly a medical professional, he decides that he'll just be the support.

So the next time, and the time after that, Aaron hadn't said anything. He'd just stared, all hard lines and glinting steel, but Robert could see the black lines of his pupils softening until he'd repeated the words again and Aaron had hung his head in defeat.

Eventually, he'd let Robert hold him after throwing daggers in the shape of scorn and questioned why he was still here after everything he'd said. Robert had been honest then - he was trying, still, after all this time, but he still found it hard - because he had to be. "Because your illness does not define you." He'd never meant anything more in his entire life.

+++

Robert can tell what day it's going to be just by the way Aaron breathes when he wakes up.

When he breathes deep and regular, like a patterned breeze but in no way cold, Robert shifts and drapes and leans until he's completely covering his fiance. He warms them both with soft, lingering kisses until Aaron smiles at him like he's the sun and he's lighting up the world with just the simple pull of his lips and tells him to move. 

When he breathes like the world is sitting on his chest, Robert just peers at him. He watches the stutter of his stomach, listens to the harsh sounds that fall from his lips and tastes the salty tears on his tongue, before running his fingertips over the delicate veins on the inside of Aaron's wrists, a greeting, an apology, a question mark.

Days like the former have Aaron flitting around the kitchen, eyes light and skin glowing, with the radio on loud enough to piss Liv off so she wakes up. Robert looks at him, over the rim of his coffee cup and notes the shake of his hips, the quirk of his shoulders and the way he strokes butter onto bread in time with the beat of the music and feels his heart swell. 

He loves Aaron like that. He loves him anyway, through everything, but he loves the way Aaron lights up the room like this. He's the focal point, the centrepiece, and even though he usually hates it, he pays no mind. He loves the way Aaron moves, light and free, without anything weighing him down. It's like he's never been through any of the shit that's happened to him, like he had a normal childhood and no issues with his sexuality, like all his boyfriends have been perfect and loving and caring.

The way he laughs and smiles and flushes red makes Robert drag his breath in through his nose, and it's overwhelming. It's overwhelming, but it's overwhelming in the best way, and Robert kisses him until his lips are numb, and tells him he loves him and that he'll never leave him. 

On days like this, they fuck, silly and playful and filled with laughter, and Robert thinks that this, this is making love. He's never felt this before, not really. He thought he had, but it turns out all his other conquests were just half-arsed, unbothered, and boring. No, sex with Aaron – it's something else. It makes his chest swell with love and pride and joy, makes his legs shake with fear and anticipation and bliss, and makes tears fill his eyes until he can't see.

But the bad days, god. The bad days are fucking awful, to the point where Robert wants to curl up and cry with how painstakingly obvious it is that Aaron's hurting and he can't do anything about it. He can't, though. This isn't about him – it's about being there for Aaron, about supporting him and loving him and letting him vent, and he does it without thinking about it.

Doesn't mean it doesn't break his heart.

On those mornings, Aaron will wake up with tears tattooed onto his cheeks and sometimes Robert's scared that it's permanent. He's scared that the red streaks will last forever, that the raw skin will never heal and that pure heart will never be happy again. But then he shakes himself out of it, holds his breath and offers one hand, palm up across the mattress. He doesn't touch, never touches until Aaron gives his permission. Sometimes he doesn't, just turns over and holds himself and lets his body shake with the force of his sobs, but sometimes he'll curl into Robert's warmth. Sometimes he'll take Robert's hand, gently press their fingertips together and wait for Robert to pull him closer.

Robert always does, always fits one arm around the tense line of Aaron's shoulders and the other brushing Aaron's hair away from his too warm forehead, and he stays silent because there's nothing that Aaron wants to hear right now. Instead, he presses his lips against his fiance's temple, holds him a tiny bit closer every time there's a particularly harsh sob and quickly, deftly texts Adam about their absence. 

Most of the time, Adam is good. He understands, texts back a simple _send him my love_ , and then Victoria will be texting not even a second later asking if there's anything she can do. Robert's grateful for them, as friends and as family, and he's grateful for the way they care. Another thing he's learnt is that every support system needs a back up support system. 

Sometimes though, Adam doesn't quite _get it_. He complains, bitches, moans about all of the things they had to do today, asks if at least one of them comes in, and it doesn't quite sink in until Robert texts, _stop_. That one word seems to make him realise, every single time, that days like this are bigger than all of them. It's not exactly like it's _planned_ , and some of the days can be pretty mild. But then some of them can be a nightmare.

Mild days aren't too bad. They're manageable, at least, and they go like this: Aaron will wake up from a bad dream, the kind that makes him rush to the bathroom to force out the bile that's in his throat. He'll come back, pale and sweaty and shaking but with a tentative smile that's more of an apology, and he'll sit on the edge of the bed and his fingers will inch further towards Robert's hand. Then Robert will sit up, take it, and pull him into a hug. He'll try and cover every inch of Aaron's body with his own, tries to tell him _you're safe_ and _I've got you_ without saying the words, and then he'll suggest a shower.

Robert would replace all the good days with days like this if it means the really bad ones don't exist.

Because the nightmare days start with Aaron waking up, drenched in sweat and tears and the stench of fear, and he'll shrink away from Robert's heat like he's an injured animal. He'll lie on his side, making himself as small as possible, almost drowning under the folds of the duvet and he won't say a word. He won't say thank you when Robert gets him a glass of water, but he'll turn over after he drinks it as an acknowledgement, and sometimes he'll mouth _hold me_ because his voice isn't strong enough to say the words out loud. Robert always does.

Because these days always end up with Aaron not eating a thing. He won't even eat the single slice of toast that Robert brings him after the tremors have stopped. He won't eat the plain pasta that Robert makes for lunch. He won't eat the tray of chips Robert brings him from Marlon at dinner time. He barely drinks more than a pint of water, and on the rare occasions that he manages to, he just throws it back up again, stomach sick with terror. And then Robert will run him a bath, making it hot enough that he can feel it but without hurting him, and slowly coax him into the bathroom. He'll sit him on the closed toilet lid, taking off all his clothes will feather-soft movements and then lower him into the tub. He'll wash his hair and his body, replace the smell of horror with the smell of fresh mint, and he'll wash away the tear tracks and the last remnants of shattered memories.

Robert wants to kill the person who made Aaron like this. He knows who it was, of course he does. But he's dead, isn't he? Not much use to Robert when he's rotting six foot underground, not when Robert could be throttling the life out of him himself. He thinks about it sometimes, how satisfying it would be, how _pleased_ he would've been to see that man's eyes drain, to see him choke on his last breath. It's no use now, though. He just deals with the damage he left behind, how he broke the purest, most selfless person Robert's ever met.

But he still doesn't love him any less.


	2. Chapter 2

Robert knows what he signed up for. Of course he does.

Well, it's not like he signed up for it, exactly. It was inevitable, the course of true love and all that. It was expected, what with the way a solid magnet weighs down his chest, pulling him so he's gravitating towards Aaron at any given moment. It drags him constantly, and he used to go kicking and screaming but now he lets himself slide in the gap next to Aaron, lets himself press the lines of their arms and thighs together. If he was paying attention, he'd probably notice the way everyone makes space for him when he walks in the room: the way Chas, Adam, Cain constantly clear out of the way so he can take it up.

So he takes the good days, the bad days, and everything in between. He takes the depression and the anxiety and the paranoia and he bundles them all up with a ribbon on top, part of the parcel that makes up the love of his life. But he does everything he can to reduce the size of the package.

+++

So Robert knows things about mental health. He knows how it works (sort of) and he knows how to handle Aaron.

But he's still learning.

He's still hesitant, sometimes, with tentative touches and careful words until Aaron snaps that he won't break. Then he presses his fingers a little bit harder.

When they watch TV, curled around each other with a cup of tea and Liv sitting at their feet, they try not to watch anything that references mental health. It only sets Aaron's breath stuttering, hands clenched into fists and spine tensing painfully. But it's unavoidable, really, when it's such a huge topic, an every day thing. But it's not real. It never shows the ugly tears and the grooves made by nails digging into flesh.

Because mental health is not beautiful. It's not poetic or inspiring or anything like it's shown in movies. It's horrifying and sickening.

But Aaron's still beautiful when there's tears tracking his cheeks. He's still beautiful when he can't escape from his past, when he's terrified that he's drowning, when he's laying on the frosted ground welcoming death.

He's beautiful because he's strong and genuine and bigger than this, this consuming, exhausting thing. Robert can only hope that his kisses tell him that.

+++

These days, Aaron's better at coping with it. He doesn't hide it, not now, because he knows that Robert will try, will help, even if he doesn't always know how. Now, he knows he's not alone.

But he doesn't turn it on himself. He probably does in his mind, thinking harsh words and tearing his heart up, but not in the way of razorblades and fire. Robert's grateful for that at least. He still looks though, every time Aaron gets undressed beside him, for fresh cuts and clotted blood and blistered skin. He's grateful every time he sees nothing more than metallic silver lines, glinting faintly in the moonlight. He'd rather they weren't there at all, of course – but every time there's nothing new, he finds himself breathing a bit easier.

He hates himself for using it in a fight. That day, at the scrapyard, the day he got shot – that's the only thing that sticks in his mind. He doesn't remember anything before, or after, not even Aaron's hands pushing thick wool onto his chest, but he remembers his words. He always will.

He can't explain it, not even know when Aaron asks. He can't tell him why; it's pathetic. What kind of person does that make him? To talk shit about the one thing that he knows Aaron's ashamed of. To try and inflict the wounds himself with insults.

But he was so scared. Because he'd lost everything and more, because he'd ruined his own life by falling in love, because he was so bitterly disappointed in himself for loving a man – and because he still loved Aaron, despite everything. He wanted Aaron to hate him, to make it easier for him to hate Aaron right back, but even that hadn't worked. Every time he spoke it was like a double bladed sword, one end piercing right through the love of his life's back and the other through his own chest.

When the bullet had hit him, it was different. It was better, the pain. It was good because he couldn't feel the hollowness in his chest anymore.

It was a relief.

+++

He understands mental health but not really. He understands why Aaron is like this, he gets that it's a growing collection of things life throws at him, but he doesn't understand the science. He doesn't understand why Aaron's brain is imbalanced, teetering, ready to fall.

That's why he finds himself on Google at three am most nights.

Countless searches of WebMD and NHS Choices have taught him next to nothing, just symptoms and plans and treatments, so he tries to forget it.

The next time Aaron wakes fighting for breath, he pushes back the bitterness at something so stupid and uncontrollable as chemicals and thinks of all the advice he'd read on forums, focuses on that instead.

But sometimes even that's futile. No two cases are the same, no two people are, so he rejects the idea of just hold him and tell him that you love him and waits for Aaron to come to him.

He has to tell Liv this too, on the days that it's particularly bad. He has to warn her against touching her brother, even though she wants to wrap him in a hug and bring him tea. She's sweet like that, she cares, but sometimes it's too much and if she's in a foul mood that day he has to pack her off to Gabby's with an apology and twenty quid.

He watches her go every time, and it never gets easier.


	3. Chapter 3

Liv is fourteen going on forty most of the time. She's wise beyond her years, has been through so much more than most teenagers should, but she's still so reckless in a way that Robert associates with being a kid.

She doesn't get it. Robert hears her crying in the night sometimes, and he knows Aaron does too, and he also knows that Aaron ignores it because he feels bad enough anyway. 

Robert doesn't even approach her when she's upset. She's way too volatile like this, snarls and sneers and screams, so he just offers an olive branch in the form of a hand on the back of her neck as she eats her cereal the next morning.

+++

After one particularly rough day, Robert has just managed to lull Aaron into sleep. He's exhausted and hungry and thirsty, so he heads downstairs ready for a cuppa and some toast and trashy TV. He's half way through pouring milk into his mug before he realises he's not alone, soft whimpers and the sound of scrunched tissues finally coming to surface and he turns around. "Liv?"

"I'm just going to bed." She says, even though she doesn't move an inch. There's a box of Kleenex sitting on her lap, and her face is red and swollen and it's a sight that Robert never ever wants to see.

He abandons his tea and sits down next to her, shoving her up with his hip even though there's plenty of space on the other side of the sofa. "Do you want to talk about it?" He knows what _it_ is, the elephant in the room, _it_ is upstairs sleeping, but she just shakes her head. He shifts closer again and stretches his arm around her. She leans into him easily.

He knows her like the back of his hand, after living with her for a year and loving her for more, and he counts the beats before she speaks. _One, two, three, four_ – there it is. "Why am I not enough to make him happy?" She asks, voice breaking on a sob. "Why aren't _you_?" 

"Oh, Liv," He sighs, running his fingers through her long, loose hair. "We are enough. _He's happy_. But we can't erase everything he's been through, can we?" No matter much how much he wishes. God knows he's tried.

"But you're supposed to make him happy. We have a house and you're married and _you_ are supposed to make him happy! But you don't!" She cries. It sounds ugly and his heart breaks with every syllable that falls from her mouth, but he knows that she doesn't mean it. She's just lashing out. She's allowed. Robert wishes he could too, sometimes.

He tightens his arm around her shoulders, rests his chin on her head and thinks about how they'd have never been like this six months ago. But now, it feels right, like he has to protect her, to keep her safe and innocent and all those things that- that parents do. That's how it feels, most of the time, and that's what makes him whisper soothingly to her. "He is happy." 

It falls flat even to his own ears, and Liv must hear it too, because she deflates. "If he's happy why is he so depressed that he can't even get out of bed?"

He struggles to find an answer for that. 

+++

When he goes back upstairs, Robert tries to be as silent as he can. He's desperate not to wake Aaron, not when he knows that his husband is exhausted and weak and needs to escape it for a few hours, but when he fits himself in the constant dent on his side of the mattress, Aaron is already looking at him with shining, alert eyes. "Is she upset?"

He figures it's no use lying, no need to sugar coat it when it's a bitter pill to swallow regardless. "Yeah," He breathes, reaching out to trace a finger round the curve of Aaron's cheek. "But it's not your fault."

"She shouldn't have to put up with it. With me." The younger man's voice sounds thin, weary and ashamed.

Robert studies him for a minute, following the way Aaron's eyes search his face. It's unusual, this: the way that Aaron's so aware and wired so soon. He's usually exhausted, trying to push through a fog with drooping eyes and slow movements for at least a full day after. It only fills him with a sickening sense of hope. "She's your sister and she loves you. All of you, even the unfortunate parts."

"I keep wondering when it's going to end," Aaron sighs. He shifts closer, pressing the line of his body against Robert's; nestling his head on Robert's chest and carefully tangling their fingers. "Not... not _this_. You. Being there for me and loving me and..." He trails off, and Robert can imagine the distant look in his eyes.

"It won't," He says carefully. "I will always love you. We're forever, you and me." He sees Aaron unfolding himself slightly, stretching his legs out and curling his free hand around the curve of Robert's shoulder, and the older man can finally breathe a bit better.

"What if you get sick of me?" Aaron asks quietly, and if Robert wasn't listening so hard he's not sure he would have caught it.

His heart feels tight for a moment, and so does his grip on Aaron's hand. "Every time I think I know you," He starts, but his voice somehow runs away. "Every time I think I know you, you surprise me. You do something that takes my breath away. So I could never get sick of you... not when you look at me like that."

It's true. It can be something huge like buying Robert a shirt he thought he'd like or booking them a weekend away, but it's also been the way he smiles while scrubbing plates, the way he laughs when Robert bites down on his collarbone.

Robert's always thought falling in love was easy. He thought it was just _feelings_ and running through the motions, but with Aaron he's fallen in love in thirty different ways.

He'd list them if Aaron asked, but right now he just tries to prove it through the tips of his fingers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***THERE IS SELF HARM IN THIS CHAPTER!!!***  
> please do not read it if you dont think you can
> 
> also, sorry this is so late, i am useless in every sense of the word x

The thing is, depression is unpredictable. 

Like last month when Aaron spent eighteen out of thirty one days in bed. When he spent eighteen days with his skin constantly shuddering and itching and crawling. When he spent eighteen days sobbing and screaming and panting. When he had eighteen nightmares in a row, like a line of doors just waiting to be opened.

Robert didn't sleep much last month.

But this month, it's going well. Shockingly well, really, seeing as Aaron hadn't actually had a _bad_ day. He'd managed to drag himself out of bed each morning, going to work more often than not and smiling more than Robert's seen in months. It's precious, honestly precious, and he's _so fucking happy_ about it, but he knows it's not going to last.

That's why he's not surprised when Aaron relapses.

+++

Robert _always_ wakes up earlier. It's always been this way, never changing, a comfort. It may or may not have something to do with watching Aaron sleep –it's just that he likes to watch for the gasps of fear to start, for the nightmares to kick in, just so he can shake his husband awake and soothe him as soon as he can. 

He also likes to watch the lines of Aaron's face soften as he sleeps, lips turned upwards into a gentle smile, hair untamed and stark against the pale pillows. In the spring, when the mornings start earlier, he looks angelic. The way the sunlight streams in through the curtains, highlighting him, creating shadows and casting a perfect halo around the soft edges – it takes Robert's breath away. Always has.

But when he wakes up, he's alone. He feels light but in the worst way, like he could float away without Aaron's arm anchored around his waist, and he feels _cold_. The bed is cold too, bitingly so, and he shivers when he feels the left side of the mattress icy under his fingertips.

It brings him to consciousness with a sharp kind of clarity, and he forces himself out of bed, padding through the grey glow of the early morning without a second thought. When he pushes the door open, he expects to hear the hustle and bustle of days at the pub. He expects to hear Chas and Charity bickering good-naturedly, expects to hear Liv and Noah arguing over the last slice of toast, expects to hear Aaron making them both a coffee to bring to bed. But he hears nothing.

This is why he hears harsh breathing from the bathroom. The door's shut, sure, but there's a light beaming from the inch gap at the bottom of the door, and he can see a shadow moving round. It looks like, sounds like- _Aaron_. The name runs through his mind, keeping up with the drumming of his heartbeat and the shallows gasps of his breath as he pushes his way to the bathroom. He feels like he's underwater, like everything's foggy because he just- he just _knows_. It's not a shock when he sees the razor blade in Aaron's hand.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He breathes quietly, and he feels like he's drowning. Everything is muffled and blurry and he's forgotten how to move, so he just watches the silver blade fall from Aaron's fingers in slow motion.

And then there's _blood_. It just falls, drips onto the white tiles like it doesn't fucking care about the mess, and Robert's not there in time to stop the next two drops. But he does get there, as fast as his stupid fucking frozen feet can get him there, and then he's curling a palm around the cuts.

There's only six, roughly and clumsily carved into a column down Aaron's forearm, but they're _deep_. Robert feels sick; beyond that, really, but he forces the clawing in his throat away and focuses on Aaron, who's not really focusing on anything at all.

"Was death due to blood loss part of the big plan?" He snaps as he leads his husband to sit on the toilet seat. He shouldn't be angry, he _knows_ , but he is. Not at Aaron, God, never, but at himself, for not noticing the signs, for not _realising_. And he's scared. He's so fucking scared. 

"Believe it or not, there wasn't really a big fucking plan," Aaron snaps back. And yeah, Robert muses, he probably deserves that. But he's not really thinking about it, he _can't_ , not when the love of his life is bleeding onto the bathroom floor and his own body.

He fumbles around in the medicine cabinet for the small first aid kit he knows Chas keeps in there (probably for this exact reason), and he finds it and pulls it out but he's shaking. He can't stop himself, drops it before he can move any further, and then he just- stops. He stands there for one second, two, ten, and he just breathes.

The noise seems to bring Aaron back to reality, and when he finally manages to pick it up and turn back towards the toilet, his husband is just _staring_ at him. He looks sad, so fucking sad, like he's lost everything and ruined his own life and Robert wills the tears not to start falling.

"Robert?" Aaron whispers, and the man himself just kneels and struggles with the clasps on the box before busying himself with pulling out what he needs. _Antiseptic wipes, plasters, bandages..._ "I'm sorry."

He clears his throat once, twice, then tries to swallow around the lump in his throat but nothing seems to be working. "It's alright," He says quietly. He busies himself with tearing the wipes open, but it's clumsy and his hands are shaking and his vision is swimming. "It's alright." It seems to be the only thing he can say, and he keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the first aid box. The last thing Aaron needs right now is for his rock to break down.

" _Robert_."

"What?" He snaps, and he sits back on his heels. He feels fucking- fucking broken, like someone's split him in half, torn out half of his organs and left a destructive path in their wake. "What do you want me to say, Aaron?"

"I- I don't know!" Aaron cries, voice twisted on a sob. Robert looks up at him then, finally, unreservedly, and he almost recoils at the sight. His husband, his lover, his best friend, looking tiny and wrecked, like his world's come crashing down around him, like he's ruins and rubble; flat, dead emotions behind the eyes.

Robert drops his eyes again, focuses on pressing the wipes to lines, lines, lines, sweeping and smoothing, all the while ignoring the quiet gasps that fall from familiar lips. He listens to his own heartbeat instead. "It's alright," He offers gently, and it's the voice he'd use if he was talking to a child but he can't _help_ it. He doesn't need Aaron falling apart even more. "You'll be okay."

Aaron pulls his arm back sharply, but it's a jerky movement like he can't quite control his body. Robert supposes he can't quite control his mind either. "It's _not_!" He explodes, and the older man tries not to look at the red tracks his nails left from the motion. "It'll never be okay! I will never be okay so _stop fucking telling me that_."

The words cut deep, probably a bit like the way the razor sliced Aaron's skin, and Robert pushes himself onto his knees to bore his gaze into Aaron's eyes. "What do you want me to say?" He repeats, and all he wants to do is cry and punch things. Instead, he shakily rips the paper from the plasters and starts to stick them onto Aaron's forearms. His touch is gentle and calming – the exact opposite of how he feels. "Do you want me to tell you how fucking guilty I feel? How it's my fault because I didn't see the signs? Or maybe how I feel like the worst person in the world because my best friend would rather cut himself to shreds instead of talking to me?"

He doesn't look up, can't look up, so he scrabbles to find the end on the roll of bandage and busies himself with winding it around Aaron's arm. It'd be almost soothing if it wasn't for the situation and the way thousands of tiny pins prick the back of his eyes. But he pushes the feeling away, drops the pins into the heavy tar of guilt in his stomach and just breathes. He didn't mean to say all that, he really didn't, but sometimes he just has no filter. He's scared of the retribution, of how Aaron's going to react, but he doesn't really have time to think about it – the second he's tied the bandage into a neat knot, Aaron is barrelling forward, pushes himself weightily into Robert's arms, knees bracketing hips and arms curling around his neck. 

He feels the wet sweep of eyelashes against his cheek, feels the shuddering bones against his torso and feels tired muscles clinging to him for dear life.

And Robert, well, he'd have to be a hell of a lot stronger to not hug Aaron back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @ aarobron x

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ aarobron x


End file.
